"Harvey, you're being ridiculous," Donna chides as she leans closer to the mirror, tapping her finger under her eye. "No, Donna, you're being ridiculous!" he fires back, considerably more aggravated, and shifts his weight.
"I've known you for fifteen years, there's very little I haven't seen," she throws him a sideway glance, lips curving in amusement. "All the more reason to keep whatever mystery there still is alive," he argues, impassive. At this she laughs, and he's equal parts pleased with himself and annoyed at her for not getting it.
"You could easily finish putting makeup on in the bedroom," he half-pleads, "You're just doing this to be petty." "I'm doing this out of principle. I think it's an important step for us," she says, and he can hear the humor in her voice even when she hides it like this.
"Donna," he presses his legs together and rests his head against the threshold in frustration. Donna rolls her eyes, "I'm not leaving this bathroom. You can either man up and pee, or you can wait for me to be done, or you can go somewhere else."
"There is nowhere else to go," he says between gritted teeth, eyes closed in concentration. "And whose fault is that for not having a guest bathroom?" she fires back mercilessly and he really does hate her sometimes.
"If this is a jab because we stayed here instead of going to your place last night-" he complains but she cuts him off. "Harvey, it's fine. Seriously. Nothing's gonna change because of this," she finally looks at him, and though she sounds amused he can see she really means it.
Desperate times call for desperate measures and he is forced to give in, though not without huffing insufferably and rolling his eyes.
"This is the death of romance," he announces indignantly. She grins, "Alright, Romeo. I'll promise not to peek."
This is, without any shadow of a doubt, the most mortifying experience of his life. He's so nervous it even takes him a while to get it going, and he keeps stealing glances at the mirror to see if she's watching him. True to her word, she remains focused on her makeup routine, even managing a straight face not to distract him.
He thinks back to all the dates they've had, all the times he dressed up nicely or wore one of the suits she likes best, all the times he bought her flowers over the years or did anything remotely romantic or charming. He pictures each and every one of those moments crumbling to the floor to the soundtrack of tinkling.
He's always heard of the mythical milestone that is peeing in front of each other. He always thought that was ridiculous, mostly because he thought him being in a serious relationship was somewhat ridiculous. And he always thought he would never, ever pee in front of a woman. That was too low even for him.
And yet here he is.
Although, come to think of it, avoiding that does seem much more difficult when you live together, especially if your place doesn't have multiple bathrooms. And you can't really pee when you're nervous, which means that peeing in front of each other shows a deep level of comfort.
Besides, anatomically speaking, she has seen all there is to see.
So while he definitely does not plan to repeat this experiment often, or any other gross stuff, he starts to resent her a little less for making him do this. She's done a lot worse and he forgave her, so this is probably not going to be their demise.
She finishes applying mascara right before he's done, and steps aside to let him wash his hands.
"So, how are you feeling after this harrowing experience?" she asks, eyebrow lifted and tone petulant as she leans against his marble sink.
"You know, you could be a little more sensitive here. I was just trying to preserve our relationship," he complains, though by now all of the actual irritation is gone.
"Well, our relationship thanks you for your valiant effort," she grins, pats his cheek and gives him a little peck. He's left to finish getting ready while she heads to the bedroom. He's surprised by what he sees once he follows her.
"Goddammit, Donna!" he protests when he spots her putting lipstick on, using the full-length mirror of his closet for support. She doesn't reply, just smirks infuriatingly.
"You're the worst, I'm never letting you in here again," he mumbles as he selects a tie. "I have a key," she reminds him simply. "I'll change the lock," he narrows his eyes in challenge. "Please, I'll still have a key," she points out and he knows she's probably right.
"Fine, I'll move and won't tell you where," he insists childishly, knotting the tie around his neck. She just chuckles and shakes her head.
"Come on, finish getting ready so we can leave," she tells him as she sprays on some perfume. On her way out of the closet, she stops next to him and pats him on the chest, "When we get home I'll show you exactly how alive romance is."
The saucy smirk and the extra sway of her hips accompany her parting line and okay, maybe she's not that bad after all.
A/N: This is clearly very silly, but I hope you like it :)